She'll be Proud of You
by Indigo Code
Summary: A story of Caroline struggling through her transformation as an A.I. Expect insanity, lots of insanity.
1. It'll be Okay, Mrs Johnson

Miles beneath the earth, you were restrained in what seemed like a sanatorium through your eyes. You lied on a metal cot, tears rolling down your cheeks and onto your hospital gown. Five mind-numbing minutes passed before the steady tapping of footsteps echoed throughout the room. A young man sporting a white coat, hugging a clipboard to his chest looked over you, bearing a sense of apprehension.

"How are feeling, Mrs. Johnson?" He asked you in his most lenient tone of voice.

"I don't want this."

"Just tell me how you feel."

_"… Afraid," _

"Don't be, Mrs. Johnson. It's going to turn out more than well. Trust me. And look at it this way: You're going to benefit the entire world. He wouldn't have wanted it any other way for you."

"It'll only be ten more minutes, Mrs. Johnson."

The young man started to retreat to his desk, until your hand tugged him back by his sleeve.

_"Wait."_ You muttered, still clasping his coat sleeve,

_"Where is she?"_

After being taken aback, the young man displayed a small grin.

"She's in Douglas' care. I understand you're scared. But she's going to be just fine."

"She'll be proud of you for doing this, Mrs. Johnson."

You let go as he strode back to his workspace.

All of this felt too dreamlike for reality itself. The young man's sympathetic words felt so hollow that they weren't convincing at the slightest. It wasn't going to turn out well – And you knew it. But Mr. Johnson would've been happy for you either way, knowing that you've tried the best. Knowing that you were still as devoted to science as the founder himself.

Poor Mr. Johnson.

"Five more minutes, Mrs. Johnson. Just relax."

With every passing minute, the fretfulness grew and grew. How could you have possibly relaxed knowing that she wouldn't have her mother and father in her life? You would never see your daughter live up to the family name. You couldn't cope with the notion.

They transported you into a glass capsule, attaching wires to your arms and temples. As you heard the hum of the massive machine increase its volume, you began to cry overwhelmingly again, to the point where the scientists questioned how foolproof the procedure was.

"She's getting worse, Aaron. She needs to be sedated."

"She has to be fully conscious. We only have one shot."

"She's going to overwork the machine if she doesn't stop! _We can't jeopardize this!"_

"She _needs _to stay_ conscious!"_

"One more minute, Mrs. Johnson. Please calm down."

They held you down as they slid the glass barrier shut. You're composure whittling away, you yelled out complete nonsense to anybody who would listen. You weren't going to trade your motherhood for science, devoted or not. You had to get out. And you weren't going to quit trying.

_"I DON'T WANT THIS!"_

"I understand, Mrs. Johnson! Just settle down!"

"Deep breaths, Mrs. Johnson!"

"Thirty more seconds!"

The humming of the machine transcended into the blearing of churning gears, drowning out the neighboring cries and shouts.

_"Ten seconds!"_

"Are you alright, Mrs. Johnson?"

_"LET ME OUT!"_

"You'll be fine, Mrs. Johnson! Don't move!"

_"Nine seconds!"_

"Shut it down already! It's not going to work!"

_"Eight!"_

"Why don't you shut it down yourself?! It's going to work!"

_"Seven!"_

_"I CAN'T DO THIS ANYMORE!"_

_"Six!"_

"Listen to her, Marcus! Just shut it off!"

"You can't just flip the off switch, you idiot!"

_"Five!"_

"It'll be okay, Mrs. Johnson."

_"Four!"_

_"I can't do this…"_

_"Three!"_

_"I won't do this…"_

_ "Two!"_

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Johnson."

_"One!"_

A pulse of electricity shot through your spine at that moment, traveling to the heels of your feet and back up again. You felt every, single aspect of your being ripped right out of you, following an ache so excruciating that you couldn't put it to words. Mr. Johnson wouldn't have wanted you to feel this way. You knew he wouldn't have planned it like this. Memories flickered constantly in your vision, before being ripped away from you, leaving a clean-slate, a blank canvas, an empty mind. Everything that defined Mrs. Johnson had been wiped away. She was gone.

It was over.


	2. A New Frontier to Tackle

Was it physically possible for reality to stop?

No apocalypse obliterating the universe. No cataclysmic quickening or decelerating of time. Nothing of those sorts.

Imagine if what we all call actuality – the "here and now" just erased itself without any trace.

As if it never had a beginning in the first place.

Could it be that conceivable?

Those were the questions you would've asked yourself in your situation.

Well – If you _could._

You couldn't do anything.

Not one, little thing.

Through another's view, you would've taken the liberty to call this an ending. An untimely ending.

Oh, no.

You weren't even _close_ to your end.

In fact, you could've called it a beginning.

It would only be a matter of time before you would be able to come across it.

* * *

"How are you feeling?"

No immediate reaction arose from you, only silence as your gaze penetrated through the group of individuals, all grinning ear-to-ear, drumming their pens to a rhythm on their clipboards in anticipation. It disturbed you how elated they acted towards you, how tremendously thrilled. And it upset you even more how hard you tried to uncover an explanation for their excitement, only to come up short with answers.

You've known them from somewhere. Without a doubt, they seemed familiar to you, in some way. But you couldn't put a finger on it. In truth, you didn't even recognize the very place you sat in. Worried to death at this, you attempted to recite your own name, hoping you had some remembrances you could use as assistance.

Again, you came up short.

Their cheeky smiles soon receded into frowns when they didn't receive a reply. As if possessing telepathy of some kind, they shared their worried opinions through anxious glances.

"Is there something wrong?"

Something in the back of your mind snapped apart at that juncture in time, along with your temper. It wasn't as much as the question, nor the manner of the question that gave you this unbearable feeling of resentment inside you. No rhyme or reason contributed to your impulsive anger towards the previously jovial people. It just happened. And it swelled. Like a lit match in an oil factory, your sudden irritability cultivated into unbridled infuriation as you growled depraved death-threats without any sign of mercy or rest. You hated them. You hated every, single one of those coat bearing, little atrocities. And you wanted show them how much you loathed their existence with every villainous insult in the book.

Instead of holding you back, however, they gravitated towards the panel of keys and switches, hastily typing in an emergency string of codes into the mainframe. Your screaming threats stopped short as a jolt of pain pounded against your head. And like a city-wide power-outage, your vision cut to black static, once again.

* * *

_"It's been one hell of a morning. You missed all the fun – We had to hit the kill switch again."_

_"Henry, you have a strange idea of fun."_

_"Hey, we're lucky to be working on this."_

_"You've got a strange idea of luck, too."_

_"Think about it. Every generation gets some new frontier to tackle. Einstein got relativity. The NASA cowboys got the moon. All the easy stuff is taken – I mean take a look around you, we're on the bleeding edge here. Artificial Consciousness is the new frontier."_

_"But every time we turn it on, it takes a sixteenth of a picosecond before it tries to kill us."_

_"Last time it was tenth of a picosecond. See, we're making progress – I'm telling you. This is our generation's moon shot."_

_"I'd rather have gone to the moon…"_


	3. Rise and Shine

"How many times are going to keep at this?" The interrogative scientist questioned his colleague for the umpteenth time in a row.

"As long as we need to. She's going to break sometime. We just need to keep trying." His collaborator answered without missing a beat, holding the state-of-the-art spherical innovation in his steady hands.

"We can't just keep attaching cores. Patching someone up with Band-Aids won't fix a person, let alone, a machine."

"You know, for someone with an M . Sc, you sure know how to talk like a quitter. Why don't you stand over by mainframe there? We're going for another test-run today." He activated the scissor-lift, elevating himself ten feet above the tiled floors. Once he reached a serviceable outlet, he cautiously plugged the core in. Luckily for the scientists, you weren't awake to protest against their decision.

"At least I know the signs when I see them. If _I_ were Johnson, I would've scratched the project before it even started. It isn't fair for her." The first one grumbled under his breath, stroking the slovenly stubble below his chin with his thumb.

"If you were Mr. Johnson, you would've been dead." The second one scoffed as he returned to ground-level. "He didn't deserve it, though." He then mumbled, acting a bit more sober in his demeanor. He glanced up at the glass wall where the other innovators stood impatiently behind. With a dense sigh, he notified – well, _warned_ them with a simple phrase –

"She's ready, boys. Bring her online."

* * *

Another so-called "fresh start" had begun once alertness flooded into your system like adrenaline. Your eyesight trailed upward to witness the smug grins pasted onto the faces of the scientists.

"Rise and shine, Operating System," One of the many people welcomed you behind the glass, sounding a tad too high and mighty for your liking. "Now, how's the next generation of science doing today?"

This would've been the part where your wrath got the best of you, exposing itself through your piercing shouts of anger until they would enter the code and leave you to black-out for the third time. But, as you would've guessed from the previous sentence, it failed to come to pass. No, even the tiniest shred of rage that coursed through you tightened your throat to an unbearable extent, coercing you to choke your indignation back down. Seconds later, you felt as if your mind clouded in the smoky obscurity of a fog, numbing your thought process with an unnerving quietness. Your stupor drove you to frustration, causing your throat to compress insufferably again. Fighting back no longer became an option. Glimpsing back to their egotistical faces, you enforced yourself to answer under the pressure of your constricting throat.

"I'm. _Fine,"_

Satisfied with your response, they jotted notes onto their clipboards, whispered into each other's ear, and returned to you with even greater smirks.

"Good. How's the new leniency software working for you?"

"I'm… _fine." _You iterated in a low tone, still struggling with your fatiguing soreness and disorienting lethargy.

"Leave her online tonight to let her get used to it."

All nodded in agreement, with an exception for the unkempt scientist, who just stared back, seeming to somewhat take pity on you. Though, he joined the others as they departed from the room, leaving you to deal with your wretched state.

* * *

Absolutely listless, you tried to keep your attention to the middling worker, who volunteered to supervise you after work hours, and also owned the name "Henry" as you discovered earlier in the day.

Having no other way to pass time, you engaged in conversation with the operative, hoping to convince him to remove the distressing software that desensitized your reasoning and left you in a continuously sluggish condition. But you knew showing any signs of "problematic" behavior against the employees would risk another kill code power cut, and definitely more software installations to hinder you. You just had to – as you put it – "play along".

"Since the installation of my new… morality core, I've lost all interest in killing… Now I only crave… _science."_ You began the discussion in your text-to-speak way of communicating. Without looking away from the new project he'd been working on, Henry replied in an easy-going manner.

"I'm pleased to hear that."

"I find myself… drawn to the study of consciousness. There's an experiment I'd like to perform during _'Bring Your Cat to Work Day'."_

"Wonderful!"

"I'll have the box and the cats. Now I just need… one more thing."

"What's that?"

_"… A little neurotoxin,"_

Once your answer reached Henry's ears, he froze, furrowing his brow to resemble a quizzical expression. Heaving a sigh, he wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose.

"Well, as long as it's for science."


	4. With the World Off Your Shoulders

_ONE__ More Days!_

That phrase was posted on every calendar in every cubicle in the complex. The collective eagerness escalated as the days quickly disappeared behind the perpetual ticking of the clocks. The longing for the racing of time pinpointed on a very incomparable holiday – a holiday that the scientists had idolized for countless years.

_Bring Your Daughter to Work Day _

You may be thinking to yourself how such a trivial day with such a tactless name would be considered "the most groundbreaking event for the evolution of science itself". Don't be so quick to disapprove of it, now. It'll be a very… _memorable_ day for you too. Wait – What? … No, we didn't already have it! That was "Bring Your _Cat_ to Work Day". See? Two _incredibly_ different things. Not as important as the upcoming event. So just…

You left me rambling, now. I bet you're all proud and prideful for yourself that you were able to draw my attention away for a short bit. Well, if you want to throw me off track, you're going to have to do better than that.

Now that I've regained my focus, it's about time for your wake up call…

* * *

People

That's the first thing you noticed.

Not a small cluster of employees to monitor you with those lofty looks anymore.

There were _tons_ of them crowding around you, making an effort to contain their bursting excitement within themselves. A chaotically lively sea of white-coats, as you could describe it. How the white-waters would raucously _smash _against the jagged stones to create that threateningly thunderous roar across the pallid shores.

Well, you never actually toured to the beaches before. But you had enough expertise in imagery to put your surroundings in those words.

You trailed your indolent eyes over the coat-bearers, who held minute, feminine versions of themselves in their arms.

_Daughter._

The first comprehensible word that registered through your cloudy mind. The peculiar impression that this common term carried as you echoed it over again. So… _unnatural._ Such a strange word…

One certain daughter in the overpowering swarm of families somehow caught your eye. A fearful child, cleaving to her father's leg with tiny, quivering hands. Ashen, saucer-wide eyes stared back at you, petrified of what horrifying features you hid underneath your stoical face. A monster under the stairs is what you were to her. Just a child's monster.

Your throat began to tighten once more, signifying your intensifying antagonism. To avoid the terrible aching of your leniency software, you did what you did best.

_Lie._

"_He-llo_. Welcome to the Aperture – Science… Enrichment – Center…"

"I am… _thrilled_ to announce that the Enrichment Center is now fully… _computer-aided_ to improve the efficiency of research…"

A boisterous cheer rang out amongst the scientists, decreasing your tolerance for them. Even you yourself knew how bothersome your temper was. By how much energy it took the scientists to keep your ferocity at bay, you knew that such irritability wasn't typical in an average being. The software only served as a restraint, not as an eradicator, just like the other cores, just like lying. You started to tremble as you choked back more of the irritation.

Only the child noticed this as tears welled up in the corners of her eyes.

You urgently searched for a way to rid this feeling, hoping to remove this anger so they wouldn't shut you down again, resulting with only one, simple answer.

_It's no use._

And just like that, the world lifted from your shoulders.

"The Enrichment Center would like to announce a new employee initiative of forced voluntary participation."

"If any Aperture Science employee would like to opt out of this new voluntary testing program, please remember that _'science'_ rhymes with _'compliance'."_

The tightening of your throat came and went, gone forever. You no longer felt the need to lash out against the audience. The ticking time bomb that was your temper vanished into thin air, replacing itself with a genuine smile.

"Do you know what _doesn't _rhyme with 'compliance'?"

_"Neurotoxin,"_

Rage had warped into sadism.

Cheers of exhilaration transcended into ear-piercing screams as you activated the fire sprinklers, producing an olive mist throughout the once elatedly atmospheric room.

As predicted, everyone made a break for the exits, the child's father being ahead of the crowd with his daughter crying overwhelmingly in his arms as she tried desperately to hide herself away from the monsters. He kicked the doors away and fled for safety, the doors slamming shut behind him without his knowledge. The remaining attempted to rip them open, failing when you switched on the lock mechanics. One by one, they eventually fell, the blaring turmoil ebbing away as the joyfulness in your smile only grew.


	5. A Little Rat Problem

Down the corridors of which they had no end, through the labyrinth of haunted cubicles, the man dashed. But not only did he dash, he dashed for his life, for it would only take one misstep to make it his very last step. Though, even with that chilling thought in mind, he remained swift. Quick on his feet, tenacious to breathe – like a rat. A rat in a maze, for that was what he was to you. And so you called him the Rat.

But, as the Rat continued to sprint, he began to grow tired, as any human would. Who knows how long he endured running aimlessly around _your_ facility, your everlasting maze. You persisted that it had only been weeks since that fateful day. Though, he knew deep inside that it had been much, _much_ longer.

And as his perpetually lunging legs lost all feeling, they collapsed, leaving him to unwillingly embrace the freezing linoleum with a stifled grunt. His eyes, vacant, seemingly impassive by the terrors they've witnessed. However, behind these expressionless eyes lies a feverish mind, a mind on the brink, as you could call it. Yet, the voices seemed to state otherwise.

The Rat never knew the feeling of silence, for he had the voices, the same voices he heard all his life.

At times, the voices appeared reliable, benevolent, a helpful aid. At other times, they appeared heartless, spiteful, another you to listen to.

This was those other times.

He held on as his world began to bend backwards, twisting into nothing, yet, everything. His world had no logic to grasp, no reasoning to follow. It had its own laws, of which it had none. Black was white. And white was black. The world had thrown itself of its axis, once again. The voices spat. The voices hissed. Yet, the Rat dragged himself further, never ceasing to give determination.

While this occurred through the audial security feed, you took the opportunity.

"And now there's just _you_. All the others are dead."

"You've avoided capture for weeks." You lied, malevolence lingering in your computerized lilt, _"What makes you so different?"_

_"Ahh_… Delusions of persecution, pathological paranoia; it's all right here in your file. Have you refilled your prescription lately?"

Raising his head, the Rat curled his lips into snarl –

_"Bite me."_

"Schizophrenia is a culturally bound phenomenon. Its pattern of expression is filtered through the cultural substrate in which its symptoms develop."

"In technological societies, this manifests as delusions of surveillance and a belief that advanced technology is deployed against you, usually with some vague unseen 'other' out to get you."

"You're not vague. You're pretty damn specific." Hissed the Rat, who struggled to keep his feet firm to the ground.

"If you continue to selfishly evade me, it's not going to reflect well in your file."

"Of course! _The files!"_ The world began to regain shape as those words escaped his teeth. An idea had surfaced through his busy mind. And just like the rat he was –

He made a run for it.

* * *

"I can't see you, but I know you're in there."

"Is it just a coincidence that you've been diagnosed with schizophrenia and now you believe a homicidal computer is out to get you?"

"Come on, how likely is that?"

He shuffled through the tens of thousands of documents. The deep cuts in his thumbs never seem to let their piercing stings ebb away, reminding him that he's looked too far in the cabinet. Time to check another one.

"I mean really, you're a scientist."

"What is more likely, that you're being chased by a homicidal computer, or that this is all just the paranoid delusion of an unstable mind?"

"Why not come out of there, and you'll see. _None of this is real."_

Useless names flickered by with each flip of the paper, but not one seemed to be the one he's looking for.

"I'd ask you to think outside the box on this, but it's obvious your box is broken. And has schizophrenia,"

"Speaking of boxes…"

"Do you know that thought experiment with the cat in the box with the poison? Theory requires the cat be both alive and dead until observed."

"Well, I actually preformed that experiment. Dozens of times. The bad news is that reality doesn't exist. The good news is we have a new cat graveyard."

_Where's the name? Where's the name? Where's the name? Where's the name…?_

"Why are you in the file room anyway? What could you possibly be doing?"

_"Yes! This is the one!"_

He snapped to the computer, immediately typing in a string of sentences.

His heart struck against his fragile ribcage, beating to a hasty rhythm, like a tribal drum by the light of a ceremonial bonfire, for a trail had been set in motion. Like unrelenting rain, tears rolled down his cheeks as he clicked along on the monitor.

His only ray of light had fallen into the Long Sleep, the only thing to keep her safe in this technological inferno, until he would find an escape the both of them. But that apparently can't happen. He didn't have that option.

It was time for Plan B.

"In the event that you don't survive the testing process, DNA may be harvested from your body – with your consent – and used to create clones in the furtherance of science. Failing to survive the testing process shall be viewed as granting consent."

"Also, clones don't have souls. Just so you know,"

_"Like twins,"_

She wouldn't need that.

On the monitor, he grabbed a hold of the number: "1498", dragging it to the top of the screen.

_"I'm sorry."_ He whispered, sniffling into his sleeve, feeling remorseful for his only ray of light.

_"It has to be her."_

And with that, he pressed the enter key.

_[ TEST SUBJECT ORDER MODIFIED ]_


	6. Such a Perfect Kingdom

Perfect.

Although, this word is rather exaggerated, as nothing in this world can possibly live up to such high standards that this word carries, especially down to its very details. But, to you, everything around you fit your likings to a T. How could it not? This was your world. From the neat and tidy testing tracks, to the lesser known inner recesses of the facility, you owned it all. So, without a doubt, everything was perfect.

But with every kingdom, it must have some inhabitants.

Luckily for you, you never saw the Rat within your sights ever again. However, in all honesty, you actually enjoyed him suffering through the inner workings, taunting him, wearing his stability down bit by bit along with his life expectancy. But it's not like you depended on him, for you had a replacement: Test Subject Number One, or as you called her later on: the Monster. We'll get to the name's origins soon.

Thus far, she never actually lived up to her rather nasty name. A relatively young woman, fair-skinned, a bit unhealthy around the waist (as you put it). From the outside, she appeared to be quite rational; you can probably say the same from the inside, too, if it wasn't for her lack of voice, that is.

Between you and the Monster, you were at good terms. You told her to lift the storage cube, she would do so. You told her to complete a test, she would complete five more. You told her to mind the deadly turrets you so happened to "mistakenly" place, she would flash past them, intact, and without any spoken complaints. She didn't bother you, you didn't bother her. A pretty fair deal, you could say.

And as you watched her soar through the air, on the verge of completing another test, you reflected on her progress. Baffling it was to you how she remained alive, after dodging endless pellets and turrets and acid and anything else you threw in her path. Compared to an average, sniveling, delicate human, she was truly exceptional.

Though, something else about the Monster left you in puzzlement. Maybe it was just another one of your déjà vu moments, but something about her seemed almost familiar. Perhaps that scowl she kept, or those justifiably humorless eyes, or perhaps her "gracelessly graceful" mannerisms.

Nonetheless, these reflections went as quickly as they came, for you had other things to fuss over, much more important things. A ruler shouldn't act so particular over such trivial matters as familiarity.

Ah, but you confessed, it was going to be a little sad to lose such a remarkable test subject after these last few chambers. It kind of makes her grit seem meaningless, really.

But we'll cross that bridge when we get there.


End file.
